A New Bond
by Hobbeth
Summary: A new woman comes into Vincent's life, with mysteries of her own and possible answers to his. Who is she and what is her relationship to him? Please r
1. Arrival

The jet landed at Kennedy airport and taxied up to the terminal. The passengers filed out, some of them eyeing the tawny haired woman still sitting in first class. One woman whispered to another, "That's Elena Kingston, the author. I've read some of her books and they are so good. She researches her locales very well. Her stories may be fiction, but her settings are incredibly accurate. I wonder if she's going to write a novel that's set in New York City."

They moved on, and slowly the jet emptied. Still the woman sat, looking out of the window. _I don't understand this. Something has been drawing me to this city for over a year, yet now that I'm here, I'm afraid to get off this plane. Why am I so frightened? I wish I could remember . . ._

"I'm sorry, Miss Kingston. You'll have to leave now. The plane has emptied and we need to clean up." The flight attendant smiled at the woman, who had started at her voice, then smiled back.

"Of course. Thank you for your patience." Elena slid across the seats to the aisle and pulled her carry-on from the overhead compartment, and reached for her purse and electric typewriter. She took a deep breath, then walked off the plane, smiling at the other attendants. When she reached the lobby, she paused and looked around.

"Well, it's about time," she heard a female voice exclaim. "You had me worried that you decided not to come, after all. And as your agent, I would've had to go get you."

She turned to the woman, smiling in relief. "Sorry, Doris. I found it difficult just to get off the plane. I'm still frightened at even the thought of being here, yet I feel I must. I wish I understood why."

"Never mind. You know you don't have to explain anything to me. You're here now, and that's what counts. Come on. Let's go get the rest of your luggage." Doris took her carry-on from her and led the way to the baggage claim area.

As they stood waiting for the bags to arrive, Doris looked at her client appraisingly. _She looks as if she hasn't slept very well. I wonder what it is about this city that scares her so much. She's been in far more dangerous places. And she certainly knows how to take care of herself all too well._

She thought about how much had happened since they'd met, twelve years ago. Elena had become a well respected novelist and short story writer, and she'd become the author's agent and friend, one of the few people she trusted.

Now both women were in their mid thirties, and finally Elena was in New York. They were in Doris's car, heading into Manhattan. "I found you a very nice two bedroom apartment. It has a bit of a history to it. A year or so ago, the female tenant was found in her bed, dead. It was a drug overdose, and she'd just given birth. The baby was never found. Since then, it has been rented out only once. That tenant left in a hurry, because he said someone was able to climb up onto the balcony, several floors up, and tried to get in. He didn't feel safe there. No one has leased it since."

Elena turned to look at her friend. "And you thought that would suit me? Well, maybe you're right. Who was the tenant who died?"

"A lawyer named Catherine Chandler."


	2. History

Doris headed home feeling hopeful. Elena had walked into her new apartment and immediately fallen in love with it. She said it gave her a feeling of familiarity, of belonging. She hadn't felt that way as far back as she could remember. Doris hoped this was an omen of better things happening for her client and friend. As she drove, she recalled the first time they met.

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Elena had submitted a short story to a well known magazine, which published it. Prior to that, her stories had been in other venues, or periodicals that weren't so popular or had only a small circulation. Doris's employer in the publishing house had shown it to her, and she'd read it. Then she read it again. They were both sufficiently impressed and she was assigned to search out the author. When she found her in a very cheap apartment in Kingston, she felt pity for the young woman.

It wasn't long, however, before her pity turned to admiration. Elena was a very reserved, but confident and intelligent person, who seemed to have been through some very hard times. And there was a mystery about her. They talked all afternoon, then went out to dinner. It was after dinner, as they were heading to Doris's car, when the mystery deepened.

As they neared the vehicle, a male voice was heard in the darkness. "Hold it right there."

They stopped and were quickly surrounded by five young men. "Well, well. What do we have here?" said the same voice. "Two women alone, and unprotected. Now that's not good, especially around here. It isn't safe. You need us to escort you out of this area."

"That's not necessary," Doris said. "We're very near my car and have no need for your 'protection'."

"Oh, but I insist. Of course, we'll want something in return. I mean, this is how we earn our living."

Doris heard a sound like a low rumble. She realized it was coming from Elena. She turned to look at her, but couldn't see her too well in the darkness. Yet she sensed that the other woman wasn't frightened, but tensing to . . . what?

"Earn your living?" Elena said sarcastically. "By trying to intimidate women? Well, I don't intimidate easily. And I'm not vulnerable at all. In fact, I'm much more dangerous than you realize. I suggest that if you don't want to get yourselves hurt, you should leave right now, all of you."

There was silence for a few seconds, then all the men started to laugh. "Come on, girl, show us what you got. Maybe we can party together afterwards. How does that sound?" The man reached for Elena's arm, then jumped back as she growled at him. "Whatcha wanna make a noise like that for? We're just havin' a little fun with you. Don't you want to have some fun?"

"Your kind of fun isn't mine. Now get out of here and leave us alone! Otherwise I won't answer for the consequences."

The men laughed again, and one of them grabbed Elena from behind and another grabbed Doris. What happened next was a blur in Doris's mind. There was a roar, like that of a lion, and she heard slashing sounds, then cries of pain. The man who had hold of her suddenly let go, with a howl. A car entered the parking lot, and its headlights shined in their direction for a brief time. She saw the men running off, limping, their clothes ripped in places. She looked over at Elena, and saw that her face seemed to have changed, to have taken on a leonine aspect.

Then the lights disappeared as the car turned into a parking spot. "Miss Kingston?" she said tentatively.

The tension faded. Elena turned to her, once again the young woman she'd met. "Are you all right?" Doris nodded. Elena sighed and said, "I suppose I have some explaining to do. And I'll understand if you decide you don't want to represent me afterwards. Let's go back to my motel room."

There, Elena had explained about her past, or as much of it as she could remember. She'd been found wandering in the middle of nowhere, about sixty miles outside of Kingston when she was about fourteen, totally nude and unable to talk. She'd been taken to the hospital and examined. There were no drugs in her system, but some unexplainable anomalies in her blood. She was malnourished, but showed no signs of physical abuse.

When she finally started talking six months later, she told the authorities she had no memory of her life prior to being found, or even what her name was. Since then she'd had only brief flashes, more like still pictures. All she knew was that, under certain circumstances, she became almost bestial, and couldn't stop herself. In school, no one tried to bully her more than once, and after the first month, no one went near her.

She was placed in an orphanage, then in foster care. But she never seemed to fit and, when she turned eighteen, she went out on her own. She moved to a cheap apartment, and found part time work. She'd been living in the apartment ever since. She found she liked to write stories, and had submitted several, some of which had been accepted.

She had taken the name Elena, because it felt right, and Kingston, because that's where she'd been living ever since she was found. The courts had allowed her to have that name legally until - if ever - she was able to remember her real name. But that had not yet happened.

Doris found herself warming to this conflicted woman. She offered her friendship, a contract to write more stories, possibly even novels. Elena had, after hesitating for several minutes, accepted gratefully. But when Doris suggested she move to New York City, she blanched and shook her head.

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Over the years their professional relationship developed into a close friendship. Her talent blossomed under the agent's deft handling and she expanded into novels not long after she signed the contract. She still wrote short stories while her first novel slowly was born (and occasionally after that), and she found that she wrote better when she went to the places she wanted to set her stories. When she finally had her first novel published, it was a resounding success. Her fan base, who devoured all her short stories, bought her book and recommended it to all their families and friends. Word of mouth seemed to be more effective than any other form of advertising. She made the mandatory book tours, with interviews and signings, and was amazed at the eclectic mix of people who read her tales.

Doris persuaded her friend to get a better apartment (but still couldn't get her to move to New York), and helped her pick out furniture and accessories for it. Together they decorated it, although Elena kept it sparse, saying that she'd be away researching locations for her stories, and didn't want to leave an apartment that invited burglars. Doris, who had wanted to accessorize more, reluctantly agreed that it was probably the thing to do.

As time went on, they grew so close that, when Doris fell in love and married, Elena was her maid-of-honor. The wedding was held on Long Island so, although Elena had to go through part of the city to get there, she was able to attend. But she went a week early, and stayed in a hotel, feeling that she'd need time to get over being in New York, even for a brief time.

When it turned out to be less traumatic than expected, she found herself doing more than she thought she could. Doris was pleased to find her friend writing more prolifically than before. And the tone of her stories had changed somewhat, at least temporarily. Plus she was more outgoing during the round of festivities preceding the wedding than either one of them expected her to be.

As the years passed, Doris found that Elena's fear of going to New York City never seemed to change, and she resigned herself to meeting her elsewhere. But one day, Elena began to talk about feeling a need to go there. She'd said that something was making her feel like she had to go, but she couldn't. The idea of being in that city was still too frightening. It was like being at a closed door, and knowing that opening it was going to cause pain and grief. However, over the ensuing year, she talked about the pull she felt more frequently. Then finally, she called Elena from California. She said she couldn't resist any longer and would Doris please find her an apartment to live in while she sorted her life out?

Doris was thrilled, but worried. She hoped that whatever happened would be good for her friend and help her conquer her demons. She knew that Elena had been in situations that forced her bestial side to emerge from time to time, but fortunately, no one had been seriously injured. She mentally crossed her fingers and set out to find a nice place in Manhattan for Elena. Two weeks later, standing in the apartment that had once belonged to a lawyer, she thought she'd found it. She hesitated, when told its history, but reasoned that Elena would be able to discourage the prowler, and took it.

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As Doris turned into her driveway and got out, she hoped she'd done the right thing. Elena's attitude made her optimistic, but she reminded herself that this woman was no ordinary person. Sighing, she went inside and was greeted by her husband and two children. Elena wasn't forgotten, but for a time, she was moved to the back of Doris's mind as she spent time with her family.


	3. Awareness

Author's note: I should have written this in my first chapter, but it slipped my mind. The Disclaimer: I do not own any of the tunnel characters (Vincent, Father, Baby Jacob or Mary). Elena and Doris are both mine, and I would like you to ask my permission if you wish to use them in a story of your own.

* * *

About the time the jet carrying Elena landed, Vincent looked up from the book he was reading. Anyone who might have seen him at that moment would haveassumed he was listening to something no one else could hear. A questioning look appeared in his eyes and he closed the book and put it aside. Rising, he left his alcove and began prowling the catacombs deep under New York City.

From time to time he would pause, trying to reach out empathically, but whatever it was that alerted him seemed unreachable. He headed back to his quarters, trying to define what he felt. As he thought about it, he realized he'd been feeling this - something - for about a year. It had been faint, almost unnoticeable, and distant at first, but was growing stronger. Now it was here, and soon maybe, he'd find out what it was.

About an hour later, he encountered the man he knew as Father, who was playing with Jacob, Vincent's baby son, while Mary got the child's dinner ready. Father looked up and noticed the expression on his face. "What's the matter, Vincent?"

"I'm not sure. I'm feeling a pull of some sort."

"Like the one you had with Catherine?"

Vincent hesitated at the mention of her name. Finally he replied, "Similar, but not the same. It's too nebulous to describe, or even to locate. I've begun to realize that I've been feeling it since shortly after Jacob's birth, but it was almost unnoticeable until recently."

"Be patient, Vincent. If it is getting stronger, you will learn what is causing it in due time. In the meantime," the older man suggested as Jacob noticed the new arrival and reached out to him, "I think your son wants his father."

Vincent reached down and picked up the child, a healthy fourteen month old. "He's getting bigger every day," he said as the boy gurgled and laughed and patted his father's face. Vincent's expression softened with the love he felt for the boy, and the wonderful memories he had of Jacob's mother. "I see more of her in him each time I look at him."

The two men played with the boy for a while longer, then it was time for his dinner. Mary entered and Vincent handed Jacob over to her. She left, cooing to him, and Father smiled. "She really enjoys mothering the boy. He's been a blessing to all of us, but especially to you.."

Vincent smiled, then suddenly became alert. The expression on his face was hard for Father to read.

"What is it?"

"Whomever I am sensing has just entered Catherine's apartment."


	4. Acclimation

After Doris left, Elena explored the apartment. From what she understood, the furniture in it had been Catherine's.It had been put into storage after the woman's death, andDoris found it and had it put back._It fits this place. It feels right,_ she thought. She walked around, touching a lamp here, a picture frame there. There was a peace here, unaffected by the woman's death.

She finally walked into the bedroom and stood there, eyes closed, feeling the atmosphere. It gave her a sense of belonging like she'd never felt in her memory. She had no idea how long she stood there, but finally she opened her eyes and turned and walked toward the French doors. She opened them and walked out onto the balcony.

Leaning on the railing, she looked out over the city and sighed. For the moment, whatever caused her trepidation had receded. She smiled to herself and walked back into the bedroom to unpack, then fix herself something to eat.

She went to bed late that night, and fell deeply asleep. But a few hours later, she sat bolt upright in bed, panting. She'd had a nightmare, which she couldn't remember the instant she woke up. She knew that in it she was seeing flashes of people and things. She got out of bed and went out to the balcony to get some air and try to calm herself.

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Vincent was sleeping soundly, when he suddenly awakened. _She's having a nightmare. I can feel - and I know somehow that it's a woman - her fear. Should I go to her? Would it help her or would I just add to her fears?_ He started to get up, when he felt her awaken. He concentrated, and after several minutes, felt her relax, then finally go back to sleep.

But now sleep eluded him. _Why am I sensing this woman? How are we connected?_ He got up and went through the tunnels, ostensibly to check on everyone, but in truth to try to sort things out in his mind. He wandered for hours, arguing with himself about the step he was considering - to go to the apartment. As always, he ended up at the Mirror Pool, and sat on the edge, considering all his options.

When he finally returned to his quarters the next morning, he'd come to a decision. He needed to meet her, to find out who she was and what their connection was. He would do it that night. But Fate had another option in mind.


	5. Meeting

After breakfast, Elena spent her first morning trying to express her feelings and impressions about being in the city and her new home (or second home - she hadn't given up the house in Kingston she'd bought a year ago). She'd called Doris during breakfast to let her know she was okay, and still around. They chatted a few minutes and set up an appointment to meet at the publishing house early the following week.

Her thoughts flowed freely at first, and she typed up two pages. It had been a while since she'd written anything, or even felt a need to write, and it felt good to be doing it again. Then she began to falter, as the pull she'd been feeling grew stronger. She tried to ignore it, but it was too persistent.

Finally she gave up. She stood up and stretched, then considered her next move. Moments later, she went over to where she'd left the keys and picked them up, putting them in her pocket. She walked out of the apartment and began to explore the building.

Her rambling took her down to the basement, where she met the superintendent. They introduced themselves, and he told her a little about the building (and some of the other residents), then left to do his work for the day. Once he had gone, she looked around for a bit longer, then headed to the sub-basement. Something drew her down, further and further.

She stood there for several minutes, still feeling the pull, and looking for something - she didn't know what. She peeked into and around boxes, barrels, crates and other large items. Then she noticed some boxes against a wall, and quickly moved over to them. Following her instincts, she pulled them away from the wall, finding that they moved more easily than she expected. Once they were far enough out, she looked behind them and saw a hole in the wall, big enough for a person to go through fairly easily.

She didn't hesitate to move. Once she was through, she looked back and noticed a rope she could use to pull the boxes back in place. After she covered the hole again, she turned around to find herself in a small area, with an opening in the floor. Moving over to it, she spotted a ladder leading down and knew she had to descend. Once she was at the bottom, she paused. The pull had grown stronger, and she decided that she had no choice but to follow it to wherever it led her.

As she walked, feelings of expectation and apprehension grew. She heard tapping on metal and thought, _It's probably the pipes, but what would be making such sounds?_ She tensed, growing more alert. From time to time she heard other sounds, as if someone was quickly moving away down a side tunnel.

Suddenly she stopped as she felt a presence close by. The look on her face changed slightly and she turned toward a side tunnel, cloaked in shadow.

"Don't come any closer. This is no place for someone like you. You must go back."

"Why?"

"It isn't safe for strangers. It's too easy to get lost and there are deep pits you could fall into. No one would ever see you again. Go back.

"No. I can't until I get some answers."

There was a growl from the figure in the shadows and she tensed, her face changing its expression even more. "You won't find your answers here," he said. "It is better if you turn around and leave, never returning."

"I was led here and I'm not going back until I find out why," Elena replied. She moved toward the shadowy figure.

Suddenly the tunnels echoed with a roar, followed immediately by a second, slightly higher pitched one. They faded away, leaving a stunned silence. Elena backed up a step in surprise. She was panting slightly, feeling that at least some of the answers she sought lay in those shadows.

"Come out of there into the light where I can see you. Please."

Vincent hesitated for a long moment, then slowly moved into the light. The two of them looked at each other for what seemed an eternity, then Elena frowned and shook her head slightly.

Some memories forced their way into her consciousness, and the expression on her face changed from amusement back to a frown, then she winced as she felt a sharp pain. She looked away, rubbing her forehead, then looked back at Vincent. She slowly moved toward him, then one memory repeated, causing the pain to intensify, and she gasped.

Vincent felt her pain and reached out to support her as her knees began to buckle. It intensified, and she fell forward into his arms, gasping out six words just before losing consciousness.

"He told me you were dead!"


	6. Revelation

Elena slowly regained consciousness and found herself lying on a bed in an alcove. She lay quietly as her memory of the morning's events returned. Her head still ached, but was easing. "I wonder how long I've been here," she said aloud.

"About three hours," a female voice replied. Vincent brought you straight here when you collapsed. How do you feel?"

Elena turned her head to see who was speaking and was slightly surprised when she realized her headache didn't increase. She looked around and noticed a woman about her age (or a few years older than herself), with a kind face, sitting nearby. Elena smiled slightly and replied, "A lot better than I did just before I collapsed, thank you."

The woman smiled back at her. She stood up and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. "That's good. My name is Mary. Do you feel well enough to sit up and eat something, Miss . . .?"

"Call me Elena. And I'd like to try."

Mary helped her get up and move to a chair. Moments later, Elena was eating some soup. "This is very good," she commented. "Are you the cook?"

"Well, yes. But this was very easy to make," Mary replied. "I'm glad you like it."

The two women chatted companionably as Elena ate the soup and some bread that accompanied it, and when the food was gone, Mary removed the tray and set it on a small table. Then she sat down near Elena.

"Vincent said that just before you collapsed, you said something strange. Are you able to remember what happened without the pain returning?"

Elena looked at the woman for a long moment before replying, "I'd like to try." She closed her eyes, leaned back and let her mind slowly go back to what happened in the tunnel. As the memories of those last few minutes prior to her losing consciousness returned, she felt the pain intensify, flare briefly, then subside. The memories remained and she sat up, opening her eyes widely.

"What is it?"

"Mary, I have no memory of the first sixteen years of my life. I was found wandering around in a wilderness area upstate. I was totally nude and unable to speak. Since then, I have had only brief flashes of my previous life, like seeing still pictures for only half a second, then they're gone. At least that's the way they've been, until today. This time they lasted longer, and I heard sounds, voices."

"Would you like to tell me about them?"

Elena hesitated, then replied, "I think I need to, to keep them from fading away. But they aren't happy ones, for the most part."

"Don't worry about that, Elena. Go ahead," Mary said kindly.

"I remember a tiny baby," Elena started, as she gathered her thoughts, "who looked like Vincent might have at his birth. Then I remember being alone - in my room, I think - and hearing angry voices, screams, then silence, broken only by a baby crying. Finally . . ." She paused as she sensed another presence. She stood up and moved to where she could see Vincent, who was standing just outside the alcove, listening.

"Finally," she said to him, "I remember being dragged along by a strange man. I was crying out for my parents, and he said they were dead and I'd never see them again. He also said the baby was dead, too. That's all I remember."

She became very still suddenly, as the last memory returned more strongly. The pain returned, but not as intensely, as if it was losing its hold on her. Her face grew troubled as she moved slowly toward Vincent until she was close enough to touch him.

She looked confusedly into his eyes as she said, "No. Those weren't his exact words. What he said was, 'Your brother is dead, too.' "


	7. Enlightenment

_I suppose I should put the disclaimer in at the beginning of each chapter, but I keep forgetting. So here goes: Only the characters of Elena and Doris are mine. The others I'm borrowing and will return them intact. If you wish to use mine in a story of your own, please ask, first._

* * *

"Vincent, you believe her?" 

"Father, it explains the bond between us. And the other similarities as well."

They were in Father's library, the three of them. Vincent had told Father what had happened when he encountered Elena and the older man was shocked. He'd been standing, leaning on his cane, but now he sat down in his favorite chair. He looked at Vincent, then at Elena, then back at Vincent again.

"As I've told you before, I've never understood this empathic ability of yours, but I accept it. But now you tell me that this woman says you two are brother and sister. How on earth can I believe this? And what happens next?" He turned to Elena. "What do you want, young lady?"

Elena looked troubled again. "I don't really know, sir. Answers, I guess. I understand your skepticism; I still find it hard to believe, myself. It somehow never occurred to me that I might have family somewhere. I came here to find out why I was feeling a pull to do so. I've been terrified of this city for as long as I can remember."

She sighed. "It doesn't make any sense. I've been in many large cities - Chicago, Los Angeles, New Orleans - and never felt any fear about going there **or** being there. Why New York? Then this pull grew strong enough to overcome it and enable me to come here. Maybe I will find my past, and some peace."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. I hope I'll still be able to write - I'm an author," she added as she turned to Vincent.

"An author?" he asked. "Elena . . . Elena Kingston?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember how long ago you started feeling this pull that brought you here?"

Elena thought for a few minutes. "About two-and-a-half years ago. Why?"

Vincent hurried out of the library and was back a few minutes later. He had a book in his hand. "This was given to me by a helper - that's what we call people who live above but assist us with food, clothing and other necessities. It was a gift and he inscribed it." He handed her the book.

She took it and noticed it was her third book. She opened it and found the inscription. It was dated two years and seven months previously. She looked up at him in astonishment.

"That's when I first became aware of you. That's when our bond began to form."

She shook her head in disbelief. "All this time. You've been here, I've been in Kingston, and only now do we find out about each other. Why did this happen to us?" Tears formed in her eyes as she began to realize what she had been deprived of.

Father's face softened, and he stood up and moved over to her, putting a hand on her arm. "You can't change the past, Elena, but you can move on. You both are still fairly young. You have many years ahead of you in which to get to know each other. But you must understand that Vincent must live here, and his existence can't be revealed to the public at large."

"I understand that, but it will be hard, especially if I start to get more memories of my previous life," she replied, looking at Vincent. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she started to grin. She looked down, putting her hand over her mouth.

"What is it?" Vincent asked.

A mischievous look appeared in her eyes as she answered, "I just had a longer flashback relating to the one where I saw the baby."

When she paused, he prompted, "Go on."

"I was looking at the baby and a man - our father, I think - asked, 'What shall we name him?'"

"Is that all?"

Her grin widened as she continued, "Not quite. Apparently I was very young when this happened. I replied, 'Fluffy!' I guess I thought he was a kitten, and," she grew thoughtful, "I seem to remember telling my parents that I wanted one instead of a baby brother or sister."

Father laughed as Vincent stared at her in shock. "Well, I don't think you should spread that story around. He has a reputation to maintain, you know."

Elena chuckled. "I won't, but it's nice to know I have a happy memory of him." She grew solemn again. "Even if it is my only one."

"So, where do we go from here?" Vincent asked as the merriment died down.

"I guess I should do some research, " she replied. "But I need a starting point. Father," she asked, turning to him, "do you remember the date Vincent was brought here?"

"Of course I do, Elena." He told her and she thought about it for a few minutes.

"Thirty three years ago. Then I was probably about four years old when it happened, whatever it was. Where was Vincent found?"

"By St. Vincent's Hospital, which is where we got his name. That man who told you he was dead; was he a relative?"

"N-no," she replied, wincing as her headache returned. "In the memory, I didn't know who he was. And thinking about him is physically painful. I suspect he is the key, the reason for our parents' death and our separation."

"What if he should come looking for you? There could be all sorts of problems then."

"No, Father. He won't come looking for me or anyone else. I don't know how I know this, but I'm sure he's dead." She stopped and looked from one man to the other. "I killed him."


	8. Research

_Author's note: Once again, the disclaimer. Vincent, Father, and any tunnel dwellers featured in this story don't belong to me. But Elena and Doris do. I'm writing the story for fun, not funds, and this is only my idea of what happened after Catherine's death. Many thanks to those who have reviewed this story. I hope you enjoy - or continue to enjoy - what I've written. _

* * *

It wasn't long after Elena made her statement that she and Vincent left the library. After a stunned silence that lasted what seemed like an eternity, Father had asked her if she had killed anyone since. She told him she hadn't, that she had tried to control the impulses and had been successful only to a certain degree. He said he needed time to consider all that she'd said. She took that as a dismissal, and turned to Vincent, who escorted her out of the chamber. 

The rest of the day was spent touring the Tunnels, and Vincent introduced Elena to the few people they met. He showed her his favorite place, the Mirror Pool, and they sat together on the edge, talking. He told her about his life underground and she told him about her writing. Finally he showed her the way to an alternate entrance - the one in the drainage ditch in the park near her apartment building. The sun had gone down and the night air was silky and fragrant. She promised to return in a few days, once she had some concrete information, and made her way back to her apartment.

Vincent watched her go, then went back to his quarters, wondering why he hadn't told Elena about Catherine or Jacob. He'd thought about it, but something held him back. _Could it be that, in spite of this feeling between us, I still don't fully believe that she could be my sister? That I could have a family, blood relatives, of my own?_ He went and sought out his son, and lost himself in the wonder of this child that was his and Catherine's

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The next morning, Elena sat eating breakfast and making a list of possible places to go to for information. Now that she had a possible lead to her past, she wanted to start finding out about who she really was. She munched on a piece of toast as she looked at what she'd already written:

Police Department

Newspapers

Public Library

She finished her toast and sat back. _I certainly have my work cut out for me. I don't think I've ever done any research remotely resembling this before._ She went and got the phone directory, and started looking for the numbers and addresses to the businesses and organizations she'd listed. Once that was done, she started making her calls.

Three hours later, she was sitting at a microfiche station at the library, looking through spools of newspaper articles from the week during which Vincent was discovered and taken to the Tunnels. The police had given her little information, saying that the time period she was looking for was so old, it would take time to find what she wanted. The newspapers were more helpful, but told her it would be easier to check the back issues at the library.

Patiently, she went through the spools, searching for stories on couples who had died at the same time, eliminating those who were found to be too old, the wrong race, or other factors. Sighing, she put in the spool for the seventh couple and started for the search again. Suddenly she stopped, as she came across a headline and picture. The headline read, "Chemical Researcher and Author Wife Found Dead After Explosion in Apartment, Daughter Missing." Stunned, she began to read the article.

"George Stewart, head of chemical research at Richland Industries, and his wife, Virginia, author of a number of popular children's books, were found by firefighters in their bedroom. An explosion in their apartment had completely gutted it, and severely damaged other units in the building. Their four-year-old daughter, Elena, was nowhere to be found and an investigation has commenced.

"Neighbors' accounts differ as to whether or not the girl was in the apartment at the time. All agree that they did hear screaming earlier, but no one saw anyone leave or enter the apartment for several hours prior to the explosion. They say that Mrs. Stewart was pregnant, and near her delivery date, but there was no indication of a baby in the room, although the remains of a crib were found."

The picture was grainy and difficult to see on the screen. She studied it for a long time, trying to make out the man and woman in it. Finally, she continued to look for any more articles on this couple's death. She found one, dated a week later. It said that one neighbor, who hadn't been in his apartment at the time of the explosion, had come forward and told police that he had seen a man go to the Stewart's apartment as he was leaving, about two hours prior to the time of the explosion. He had recognized the man as someone who had worked with Mr. Stewart, but had been fired under mysterious circumstances. He said that the man's name was Mark Haskell.

The article went on to say that a search for Mr. Haskell had turned up nothing, that the man had disappeared. All other leads had been followed to dead ends. It was ruled that a gas leak had caused the explosion and that the child, or children, had been completely incinerated. The case had been closed.

Elena took a deep breath. Then let it out. It sounded right; she felt she had found an answer. But now she had more questions. She scrolled back to the first article. _Richland Industries. If they are still in business, they might have some answers for me._ She rewound the spool and returned it, along with the others, to the librarian. She left and found a phone booth with an intact directory and looked up the name. They were still there. She wrote down the address and, hailing a cab, headed out to find more information.


	9. Discovery

_Author's note: Once again, the disclaimer. Vincent, Father and any other tunnel people I may write about in this story are not mine; I'm just borrowing them. The others are my original creations. Now, on with the story._

* * *

The taxi dropped Elena off in front of a modern-looking complex. She paid the driver and walked into the main building and up to the desk. The guard sitting behind it asked her how he could help her. She hesitated, unsure of how to answer.

"I'm here to inquire about a couple of employees who worked here about thirty three years ago. Who would I speak to?"

"That would be someone in the Human Resources Department, Miss. If you'll sign in, I'll call up there and see if I can get someone to come down and help you."

Elena signed the logbook and the guard handed her a visitor's badge to clip on her jacket. A few minutes later a woman she judged to be about twenty years older than herself walked up to her. "I understand you are asking about some former employees."

"Yes. I--well, this is going to sound strange, but I believe one of them may have been my father."

"And you are trying to find him?"

"No. I know that he died a long time ago. I'm just looking for a little information about him, maybe find a picture of him."

"Ah. Well then, follow me." She led Elena to the elevators and they went up to the fifth floor. They emerged onto a floor filled with file cabinets and fair sized cubicles. "Now, how long ago did they work here?"

"At least thirty three years ago."

The woman looked at her, then evidently believing her, led her to some file cabinets well away from the main area. "Hopefully, we'll be able to get all these files loaded into computers someday, and get rid of all this. We sure could use the space. Now how many employees are you interested in?"

"Two. The first one is George Stewart."

The woman opened a drawer and started searching. Soon she pulled out a thick file and laid it on top of the cabinet. "And the other?"

"Mark Haskell."

The woman searched again, and found the second file. She pulled it out and noticed some writing on the cover. She glanced searchingly at Elena, then put it underneath the first one. She picked them up and said, "Please come with me."

Elena followed her to an office door, where the woman knocked, then opened it and walked in. She asked Elena to wait just inside and went over to the man sitting at the desk. She showed him the two folders and whispered something to him. He stared at Elena for a minute, then said to the woman, "All right. I'll handle it. You may go."

The woman left the office and the man said, "Please come and sit down," indicating the chairs in front of his desk. Confused, Elena obeyed.

"I'm told you are Elena Kingston. Are you the author?"

"Yes, I am."

"You aren't asking for these files for a story you are writing, are you?"

"Oh, no. This is for personal reasons."

"Go on."

Elena hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. Finally, she began. "I have no memory of my childhood. A series of weird events and some research on my part has led me to believe that George Stewart may be my father. All I really want at the moment, is to see his picture."

"And Mark Haskell?"

"He was mentioned in a news article as possibly having been at the apartment of the Stewarts a couple of hours before the explosion there took place. I thought that if I saw his picture, it might trigger a memory - assuming, of course that I'm right about this."

"And that's all?"

Elena looked at him, confused at his attitude. "I don't know. If they do trigger memories, I may have other questions. Why?"

The man got up and went to the window. After a minute or two, he turned back. "Miss Kingston, there is sensitive information in both of these files; information that competitors would love to get their hands on, even after so many years. Plus, since you read the article about Mark Haskell, you would know that he'd been fired under - as they put it - 'mysterious circumstances'. Many reporters have come here over the years, trying to find out just what those circumstances were, trying to get a story. None have succeeded. I'd hate to find out that you have joined their ranks."

"I assure you I haven't. All my stories are fiction, although the locations are real. I am not about to change that. This is purely personal. If I could just see what they looked like, that may be enough. If I want to know more, I'll tell you my reasons for asking the questions I may have. Then you can decide whether I should know the answers. Fair enough?"

He smiled. "Fair enough." He opened one file and took out an eight by ten photo and laid it on his desk, facing Elena. She studied it and a flash of a memory came to her. She remembered being picked up and hugged by this man. Then a second photo was placed next to the first.

Elena took one look at the photo and knew. Pain once again lanced through her head as more memories surfaced, and she pressed her hands to either side, crying out.

"Miss Kingston!"

She fell off the chair to her knees and held her head tightly as she lowered it to the floor. "Oh, God," she cried. "It's him. He's the one who dragged me away and told me that my parents and brother were dead!"


	10. Assistance

"Miss Kingston, are you all right?"

The words penetrated her consciousness through the haze of pain. It turned Elena's thoughts away from the memory of Mark Haskell and the agony slowly subsided. Finally she was able to straighten up and look at the man who showed her the pictures. He was kneeling beside her, a worried look on his face. She smiled wanly at him as she tried to get up. He took her elbow and helped her.

"I'm sorry I unnerved you. It seems that memories of that man are so traumatic, I get terrible headaches when one surfaces."

"You said he told you your parents and brother were dead. Do you mean to say that he killed them?"

She sat down in the chair once again and he returned to his, behind the desk. Resting one elbow on the arm of the chair, she lowered her head into her hand, so she could rub her forehead. Sighing deeply, she answered, "I don't know. I don't have any memory of seeing them killed. I don't think I was with them at that time." She looked over at the picture of her father on the desk. "But I am sure that George Stewart was my father. I remember that face. I remember him picking me up, reading to me, taking me in to see my baby brother . . ." Her face grew sad as she went through the few memories of him that had surfaced. "And someone deprived me of more."

"I'm sorry, Miss Kingston. Your father was an intelligent, well-liked man, by all accounts. I wish I'd known him, but I didn't come to work here until several years after his death. Is there anything I can do for you now?"

Elena hesitated. "Well, you don't have any real proof that what I said is true, and I don't have any way of giving you any. So I appreciate the offer. Is there anything in my father's file that I can see, or know about?"

"Let me look." He opened the file and went through it. "Ah. Here's something you might be interested in. There was a memorial service for him and your mother. It was in the newspapers. Someone clipped it out and put it in here." He removed it and handed it to her.

It was dated ten days after they had died, and there was information about both of them, as well as excerpts from the service, of people who had stood up and told about one or the other. She looked up at him. "Would it be possible to get a copy of this"

"Take that one. We don't need to keep it. And you can take the picture, if you wish. But not of Haskell. I don't think you'd want to, anyway."

"N-no, I wouldn't. But thank you for this one," she replied, reaching for the picture. He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder for her to put them into and she smiled at him. "You've been very kind to a stranger. I appreciate this more than I can tell you. And this is all I'll ask for at this time. But I may find I need to return and see the information in the other file."

"That isn't possible, Miss Kingston. All the data in his file has been marked 'Highly Classified'. All I can say is that it could be extremely dangerous for many people, if this information should get out to the public."

"I understand, but I should tell you that it may be that it already has. I suspect that what's in there may explain what happened to me during the time I can't remember and certain things that have happened to me since."

"What things?"

"Well, let's just call it unusual behavior on my part and leave it at that for now." She stood up and held her hand out. "I've taken more than enough of your time. Once again, I must thank you for this information."

He took her hand in his. "It was my pleasure. I've enjoyed your books, and look forward to the next one. Please, if there's anything else I can do, don't hesitate to give me a call." He reached down to a card holder on his desk and handed her one. "Here's my number."

"Thank you," she replied as she put it in the folder. "It may be a while, since I may need to find a way to mitigate these headaches whenever I have memories of Mark Haskell before go any further in that area. But I will hang on to this."

He escorted her to the elevator and said goodbye as she entered the car that took her back down to the lobby.

Back in the Tunnels, Vincent was telling some of the children a story, as Jacob toddled among them, when he suddenly stopped and frowned.

"What's the matter, Vincent?" one little boy asked. "What's wrong?"

He looked at the boy and replied, "It's okay. There's no danger here in the Tunnels."

"Is it that lady who was here yesterday?"

"How do you know about her?"

"Everybody knows about her. I even heard that you two are related."

Vincent smiled slightly. "It is a possibility, but we aren't sure. Her name is Elena. And yes, I'm sensing her right now. She is trying to find out more information to help us know for certain, and I sense she found out something. But back to the story. Where was I?"

An hour later, he was in Father's library chamber, telling him what he sensed. "I could feel her headache, then later, a feeling that she had gotten some answers. I want to go to her, to find out what she learned. But she's exhausted and has gone to the apartment."

"Curb your impatience, Vincent. I'm sure she'll let you know when she's able. Give her time. Give yourself time. You both are going to have to make some hard decisions in the near future, and you need to think about what you are going to do."

"I know, Father. But to know more about who I am, who my biological parents were, maybe even how she and I came to be the way we are, and after all this time . . ."

"Slowly, Vincent. Slowly. I doubt she was able to find all that out in one day."

"Still, I'm eager to find out whatever she's learned. I'll try to wait, but it will be difficult."


	11. Sharing

It was after midnight when Vincent silently appeared on Elena's balcony. Despite his assurances that he would be patient, he felt her agitation growing, and couldn't wait. He walked to the French doors and looked in. She was tossing and turning, as if in the grip of a nightmare. Alarmed, he reached for the handle, to find the door unlocked.

He cautiously went in. He heard her muttering, but the words weren't clear. Suddenly she sat up and her face took on its bestial aspect. She started clawing at the air, saying, "No. Don't touch me. Stay away." She started to growl and Vincent hurried over to the bed.

He knelt down and put his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side. "Elena, wake up! Elena, it's just a nightmare. Wake up!" he said, quietly but urgently. He kept repeating this as she twisted and turned, trying to get away. Finally his words penetrated, and she relaxed suddenly in his arms, then opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Vincent?"

"I'm here. Relax. You had a nightmare."

She shuddered and took a deep breath. Then she let it out. Leaning against him, she whispered, "It was more than a nightmare. It was a memory - a memory of the first time I killed someone."

Vincent held himself very still for a long moment, then asked, "Who?"

"The man who killed my - our - parents. The man who made us the way we are."

"You remember what happened?"

"No, not everything. Oh, Vincent," she pulled away to look at him. "I remember this man taking me away, and keeping me prisoner in this cabin. Then I remember, years later, he was going to. . . to. . ." She put her face in her hands and started crying.

"He was going to rape me and I fought back. That's when I killed him and escaped. That's all I remember, but I have a strong feeling there's more to it."

She started shaking and he stood up, then sat next to her on the bed, once again putting his arms around her. She turned and wrapped her arms around him, and they stayed that way for several minutes, until her trembling eased. She relaxed and loosened her hold, but didn't let go. "I'm glad you are here. I hate to think what I might have done to this room otherwise."

He smiled reminiscently and said, "Yes. It's a beautiful room and it would be a shame if it was damaged in any way."

She yawned and, letting go of him, put a hand to her mouth. "Sorry about that," she said with a hint of a smile. Then, as if finally realizing where they were, she continued,"I suspect that, since you're here,you'd like to know what I found out so far." When he nodded, the need to hear what she learned evidentin his eyes, she added, "I found out the names of our parents, and have our father's picture. I also have some newspaper clippings from when they died. I want to get some more information before I return to the tunnels. Can you wait until," she glanced at her bedside clock, "this evening?"

"If I have to, I suppose I can."

She looked at him, feeling his need, then made a decision. "Wait here a minute." She got out of bed and went into the living room. When she returned, she had a manila envelope in her hands. "It isn't right that I have some information and don't share it with you. But you understand that, aside from this bond we have between us and our - unique - similarities, there isn't any proof that we are related to each other, or to these people."

"I know, but it is enough for me."

She smiled at him and pulled a picture out of the envelope. "This is a picture of our father," she said and handed it to him. As he took it and gazed at the face of the man, she added, "His name is George Stewart."

He looked at the picture for a long time before handing it back to her. "And our mother?"

"Her name was Virginia. She wrote children's books. That's all I know about her. I'm hoping to find a picture of her, maybe even some of her books. I also plan to try to contact some of the people mentioned in the article about their memorial service. If any of them still live around here, that is."

"Well then, I should let you get some more sleep. I'll meet you at the drainage ditch entrance." He turned and went back onto the balcony.

She followed to close the doors and said, "I'll see you then. Good night, Vincent."

He turned and, with a hint of mischief in his eyes, replied, "Good morning, Elena."

She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him, which made him chuckle. As he disappeared over the railing, she closed the doors and went back to bed. This time her sleep was undisturbed by any bad dreams.


	12. Searching

Elena woke up feeling refreshed. Once she had talked with Vincent, it seemed to enable her to sleep deeply, without any more nightmares. She dressed, fixed her breakfast and planned her day. She wanted to know more about the Stewarts, whom she had no doubt were her parents.

_And Vincent's, of course,_ she thought, smiling. _But I find it fascinating that our mother was an authoress. I think my first visit will be to the library. After all these years, they probably aren't selling her books any longer.And I suspect I'll have to do some digging to find anyone still around who knew them._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a call from Doris. She wasn't quite ready to tell her about her discovery, so she just said she was trying to get acquainted with the city. Doris recommended some stores and restaurants in her area, and Elena commented that her friend must have spent some time exploring the area when she found the apartment.

Doris laughed. "Well, I did drive around the area a couple of times, checking things out. And David and I tried a couple of the restaurants in the area. David really likes the Japanese one."

"Your husband is an Asian food fanatic," Elena replied. "Do you get him to go to any other kind very often?"

"Well, not too many other kinds. If we take the kids, it has to be Italian. You know how much they like pizza and spaghetti. But when it's just us, it's got to be Japanese, Chinese or Thai. I'm glad to hear that you are settling in. Now, tell me, how about coming here for dinner, either tonight or tomorrow?"

"That would be terrific, Doris. Tomorrow would be better for me. I, uh, kind of have a commitment for tonight."

"Oh? What's his name?" the agent asked teasingly.

"Yeah. Right. You wish," was the laughing reply. "No, I've been doing a little personal research and need to compile my findings."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Elena hesitated. Although Doris knew about her "uniqueness", as she liked to call it, Elena wasn't sure she could tell her about Vincent, and didn't know how much she could reveal. "Possibly later. I'll need to get much more information before I can tell anyone."

"Okay. I understand – I think. So you'll come over tomorrow, then. Do you want me to have someone pick you up or what?"

The two women discussed when and how Elena would get over to the house and hung up twenty minutes later. She cleaned up after herself, gathered what she wanted to take with her and left, heading to the library.

When she emerged from the library building, she was smiling. The librarian had told her that they had a hard time keeping Virginia Stewart's books on the shelves – they were that popular. Fortunately, one of her books was there, and Elena read it. She was able to see a similarity in hers and her mother's writing styles – further proof that they were related, in her opinion. But she still didn't have a picture of her mother. So she set out to track down some of the people who knew her parents. Her starting point was the names mentioned in the newspaper article about the memorial service. The library had phone books, and she'd found a couple of her parents' friends still living in the city. A few calls and she was soon on her way to visit them.

Xxxxx

Vincent spent the day prowling the tunnels restlessly. He knew that Jacob would be fine; Mary and Father doted on the boy, and were more than happy to care for him. He wanted to be with his son, but the emotions he was feeling from Elena distracted him, so he left Jacob with them and started wandering.

The only place he could be still at was, of course, the Mirror Pool, but even that place didn't calm his restlessness. He felt Elena's emotions as she went through the day, getting names and visiting people. He was glad to feel no strong negative emotions, but he was feeling impatient. Although he was certain that she was his sister, he wanted to know more. He wanted to know how they became separated, who his parents were, what they were like and, most importantly, how he came to be the way he was.

He sighed. _I suspect I may never know why I am this way. Or if I do, it won't be for a very long time. I must be content with what she is able to tell me. But it will be hard, much harder than waiting for her to come._

Finally he sensed that she'd just left her apartment and was on her way. He hurried to the drainage ditch entrance to meet her.

xxxxx

When she returned home, tired but happy, she had a notepad full of information, and a couple of pictures of her parents. She'd stopped at one of the restaurants Doris had told her about earlier, and brought home some food. While she ate, she went over her notes, and typed them up so the stories she was told were consecutive and more coherent. She resolved to finish them as soon as possible, so she could show Vincent and Father.

Two hours later she had finished and was on her way to the park to show her brother what she'd learned so far. But the most important questions were still hanging, and she was fearful of what might happen to her, should she attempt to get the answers.


	13. Connecting

A/N: I don't own Vincent, Father or Mary, more's the pity. I do own all other characters. Due to a couple of my other stories having been plagiarized, I must add this: Please do not copy, print, upload, download or hotlink this without my express written or oral permission.

Thank all of you who have reviewed this. I'm sorry I haven't written any more for a while, but my computer died, and then I was out of town for a while. I'll try to keep up with it from here on in.

* * *

Elena decided to enter the tunnels through the drainage ditch in the park not far from her apartment building. She felt the fresh air and exercise would help her get into a calmer mood, She smiled at herself as she thought, _I wonder if Vincent will know where I'm arriving and will be there to meet me. If so, I'm going to have to see if I can find a way to surprise him some time._ She chuckled quietly. _It could be fun having a little brother._

Her mood quickly evaporated when a couple of young men stepped out of the shadows as she neared the park. They blocked her way, then one of them moved – or tried to move – behind her. She moved to the side, keeping both of them in her line of vision. "Excuse me. Please let me pass. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Did you hear that? She's in a bit of a hurry," the shorter one, who had a goatee, said to his companion. He turned back to her. "Now what could be so important that you couldn't take the time to be with us? We just want to have some fun. Don't you like to have fun?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "But you wouldn't like my idea of fun. It could be very painful for you both."

Both men laughed, which didn't surprise her at all. No one who accosted her ever believed her warning, until it was too late. She took a deep breath, not wanting to get into a situation this close to the entrance to the tunnels, which might bring Vincent out.

"Did you hear that, Howser? She says we'd feel pain."

"Yeah, Jag. Now how could such a little thing as you hurt us?"

"Guys, you really don't want to know, but if this keeps up, you will. Why do men have to learn the hard way all the time?"

"Ooh, she's got me shakin'." Jag, the one with the goatee, grabbed her arm. "Honey, you're gonna come along with us, and we're gonna show you our idea of a good time. And then – what the hell?"

By this time, they had moved near a street lamp and he saw her face. Howser turned and looked at them, and his jaw dropped. Elena was growling low in her throat, and her hair had lifted slightly away from her head. Her face took on a feral, feline aspect and the look in her eyes was one of great danger to them.

She grabbed Jag's wrist, and removed his hand from her arm. As she did so, they all heard the sound of breaking bones, and Jag let out a howl of pain. She shoved him at his friend and said in a low rough tone, "Take him and get his wrist looked at. And spread the word. This area is off limits to people like you who 'want to have fun'. I plan to be around for some time to come, and if I find anyone who tries something like this, I will show them **my** idea of a good time." Her face returned to its normal look, and her hair smoothed itself down.

She smiled suddenly, as she listened to Jag whimpering slightly. "Now there's a macho guy. Just remember, I could have done worse. And if I catch either of you pulling a stunt like this anywhere, I will. Now get out of here!" Her smile disappeared and she moved toward them. They took off, Howser helping his friend. Moments later, she heard a couple of car doors slam and an engine start.

She turned back to the park and continued to the drainage ditch. Moving quickly, she soon reached it, and saw Vincent waiting for her. When she reached him, he grabbed her and hugged her, spinning around. She laughed delightedly. When he finally put her down, she said, "Hey, Fluffy."

He gave a mock growl, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground above his head. "What did you call me?"

She gave a little squeal, and laughingly said, "Okay, okay. Vincent, put me down."

He spun her around once more, then set her on her feet, chuckling. She looked up at him and said, "That was wonderful. But why did you do it?"

"Your mood for the last few hours – except for a few minutes ago – infected me. I felt like I was meeting a family member I hadn't seen in some time. It felt good, and I had to do it." He escorted her into and through the tunnels. "I presume you found more information? Have you found proof about our family relationship?"

"Vincent," she replied as they walked along. "I know of no way to prove absolutely that you and I really are brother and sister." She stopped suddenly and so did he. "All I can say is that I'm sure of it, and so are you – here." She put her hand on his chest, over his heart.

He smiled at her and nodded. Then he put his hand over hers. "You're right, of course. Even if no one else believes it, we do." He pulled her hand away, but kept hold of it as they continued on, finally arriving in the library, where Father awaited them.

"Good evening, Elena," he said. "Vincent has been on pins and needles, waiting for you to come. Did you find out anything more?"

"Yes, Father, I did." She looked questioningly at Vincent, who shook his head slightly. She smiled and continued. "I did some digging and found a couple who died in a fire about the time I believe my parents did. Their names were George and Virginia Stewart. He was the head of the chemical research department at Richland Industries, and she was an author of popular children's books." She glanced up at Father with a twinkle in her eyes. "So you see, I get my writing ability honestly."

He smiled back at her, but simply said, "Go on."

"There was also some information in the newspaper article about a man who worked with my – Mr. Stewart, named Mark Haskell." At the mention of his name, Elena felt a twinge of pain, but took a deep breath and continued. "Something told me that these were the people who were important in my life. So I went to Richland Industries. They were reluctant to help me when they saw something on the file folder of the other man, but finally did. There were pictures of both men. When I saw the one of George Stewart, I remembered him picking me up and hugging me. When I saw the picture of-" she winced as another, stronger twinge of pain lanced through her head, "the other picture, I knew absolutely that he was the one who killed them."

She stopped for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Both men gazed at her in concern. She looked up at them, smiling wanly. "Every time I think of that man, I get these searing headaches. I keep hoping that they'll lessen as I remember more, but that hasn't happened, yet."

She took another deep breath and sat up. "That all happened yesterday. Today, I was able to locate some people who knew my parents, and visited them." She held out a file envelope to Vincent and he took it. "In it are pictures of both of them, and typewritten pages of what the people told me about them."

Vincent opened the envelope and removed the contents. He and Father looked at the pictures, and read the notes she made, while Elena waited patiently. Several minutes later, Father picked up one of the pictures of her mother and looked at it, then at her. "It says here that one of the women you talked to said you have your mother's eyes." He gazed at the picture once again. "I believe she is right. You do have her eyes, and her mouth."

"Then you believe-"

"That George and Virginia Stewart were your parents, yes. But that doesn't mean that they were Vincent's parents."

"Father-"

"No, hear me out, Vincent. I know you feel a bond with Elena, but you felt one with Catherine, and she wasn't related to you in any way. And she is completely human in appearance. I know you said her face changed when you first met, and I don't doubt that you believe that. But are you sure? Could it have been a trick of the light, or even wishful thinking on your part?" He paused, looking from one to the other.

"Father, I've never seen what I look like when I – 'change' – and it only happens when I or someone I care about is threatened. So I can't tell you how I appear to others. But I know I do change. I can feel it." Elena looked at him, her eyes pleading for understanding and acceptance.

"My bond with Catherine," Vincent began, "was similar, yet different from the one I share with Elena." He saw they had turned to look at him. "I can't explain it, any more than I could, then. But it is there, and it is real. Father, you do know I wouldn't lie to you about that, don't you?"

Before anyone could say another word, they heard a cry from the tunnel nearby, saying, "Jacob! Come back here!"

There was a giggle, then a very small child toddled into the room. Instantly, Vincent was out of his seat and reached for the boy just before he tripped over a book and fell. The child giggled again and patted Vincent's face. "Da."

Mary hurried in. "I'm sorry, Vincent, Father. I turned my back for only a moment and-"

"It's all right, Mary. No harm done. You remember Elena, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered and smiled. "It's good to see you again. How are you feeling."

Elena smiled back. "I'm feeling very well, thank you. And it's good to see you, too." She rose and turned to Vincent and the child. "And who is this handsome young fellow?"

Vincent, Father and Mary looked at each other for a long moment, while Elena looked from one to the other questioningly. Finally, Vincent spoke.

"This is Jacob, Catherine's and my son."


	14. Reactions

"_This is Jacob, Catherine's and my son."_

Elena stared at them for a moment, stunned, then looked away as a rush of emotions hit her all at once. Shock gave way momentarily to delight. _I am an aunt; I have a nephew! _Then jealousy, envy, anger, and grief vied with each other for prominence.

_Vincent has a son. He was able to father a child. He's had a home, people who love him, an education. He's been able to fall in love and be loved by a woman who knew him for who and what he was, and didn't care. While I –_

She slumped forward as bits of memory and spoken sentences flashed through her mind. Concerned, Vincent handed Jacob to Mary, and went over to his sister. He squatted down and put a hand on the back of her head. His eyes widened as he somehow heard and saw what flashed into her mind – all from her past.

_Seeing him where her father worked – watching him at their water cooler – an empty gray room – he was there, too – "Drink the water" – "Drink the water". . . the water. . . the water. . . _

Vincent gathered her in his arms and sat down, holding her close to him.

The pain was so intense, that Elena didn't notice what was going on. All she could do was sob. When she became aware of her surroundings once again, she realized she was leaning against Vincent and shaking. She opened her eyes slowly, as she grew calmer.

"How do you feel?"

"The pain is subsiding. I'm sorry, Vincent. It's just—"

"It's all right, Elena. I think I understand. Here I am with a son, people who have cared for and about me all my life, a home. While you don't remember much of your life, and have had almost no one, no love. Now you learn that I have a son. I'm not surprised you felt jealousy and anger. It may be the reason I didn't tell you about Jacob earlier."

She thought for a minute. Then she said, "Tell me about this Catherine person you mentioned."

"I first met her when I found her in the park one night. She had been attacked and her face badly cut up. I brought her here to heal, and we formed a bond. When she left, I thought that I wouldn't see her again, but Fate had other plans. We grew closer, and fell in love.

"I became very ill about two years ago, and grew violent. I went into a dark, unfinished part of the tunnels, and she alone came after me. We loved, as she put it, and she had Jacob."

Elena felt his grief. "She died in childbirth?"

"No. Shortly after she became pregnant, she was kidnapped. He held her prisoner, for the baby. After Jacob was born, she was given an overdose of morphine. I had lost the connection during her pregnancy, which was restored when she went into labor. But I wasn't in time. She died in my arms and the kidnapper had the baby."

Elena frowned. "Then how did you find Jacob?"

The police called in a specialist in solving cases they couldn't. Her name was Diana. She located the tunnels and we met. We pooled some of our resources, and she was able to locate him and the baby. We went there and I took Jacob and brought him here. That was the last time I saw her, but I heard a shot shortly after I left. I found out later that she had killed him with Catherine's gun."

Elena was silent, considering what she'd been told. Then she remembered part of a conversation she'd had with Doris the day she arrived.

_"I found you a very nice two bedroom apartment. It has a bit of a history to it. A year or so ago, the female tenant was found in her bed, dead. It was a drug overdose, and she'd just given birth. The baby was never found. Since then, it has been rented out only once. That tenant left in a hurry, because he said someone was able to climb up onto the balcony, several floors up, and tried to get in. He didn't feel safe there. No one has leased it since."_

_"And you thought that would suit me? Well, maybe you're right. Who was the tenant who died?"_

_"A lawyer named Catherine Chandler."_

"Vincent, is the apartment I'm living in now the one that she lived in?" He didn't reply, but the look on everyone's face told her the truth. She smiled slightly. "When my agent drove me there the day I arrived, she told me a little about the history of the place. I put two and two together. I'm sorry about her death." She sat up and put her arms around him.

He held her closer and said, "I wish you two had known each other. I think you'd have been friends." He sighed and released her. "Are you ready to meet your nephew?"

She spent the next half hour getting to know Jacob, who fell asleep in her arms. Mary smiled, took him and left the library. Elena remained, talking with Vincent and Father, until she felt able to return to her apartment. Vincent escorted her to the tunnel entrance to the building. There, they paused.

"What do you plan to do now?" he asked.

"I think it's time for a return visit to Richland Industries. I have some questions, and I believe the answers are there."


	15. Surprises

The next morning after a hearty breakfast, Elena found the card that the manager at Richland Industries had given her on her previous visit. It was in the folder with the pictures and other information she'd gotten. Once Vincent and Father had looked it over thoroughly, they gave it all back to her for safekeeping.

She couldn't remember his name, or even if he'd introduced himself, so she checked the card and found it at the bottom: Ron Hamilton. His number was next to his name, so she picked up the phone and dialed it. It took some time to persuade him to even see her, but she finally was able to convince him. He told her that there would be a higher-ranking manager joining them, and it was agreed that they would meet the following afternoon.

She hung up slightly frustrated that she wouldn't find out the answers she needed sooner, but remembered that she had a dinner date with Doris and her family. She considered her options: writing down her feelings and thoughts about the events of the last few days, shopping, playing tourist, or just being lazy. All of the options appealed to her, but the last one wasn't in her nature. So she decided to spend the rest of the morning writing, then she'd go out and check out the museum scene, doing some shopping on the way back.

The day whizzed by, and when she returned to the apartment building around 4 PM, she had two grocery bags and a museum bag, all full. She laughingly told the lobby guard who had opened the door for her, "It's a good thing I have an engagement this evening. Otherwise, I'd still be out there finding things I can't do without."

He grinned at her in reply, and hurried over to the elevator to summon a car for her. When it came, he punched the button for her floor. She smiled her thanks as she got in and the doors closed. When she was once again inside her apartment, she thankfully put her purchases down on the counter and breathed a sigh of relief. She quickly put her food purchases away and was on the way to the bedroom with the other bag, when she noticed her answering machine was blinking. She went over and hit the button, to find one message from Doris.

"Elena, hi. I hope you don't mind, but I mentioned to my boss that you were coming over for dinner tonight, and he said he wanted to meet you. Don't worry, he's not going to be there for the food, but plans to show up later. So consider yourself warned, okay? Okay. I'll see you later this evening. Bye."

Elena sighed and shook her head. "Well," she said to herself, "I guess I'd have to meet him sooner or later." She glanced at the clock and decided she had time for a relaxing bath before getting ready for her dinner engagement. She hurried into her bedroom, put the bag down on a chair, and started her preparations for the evening.

At 6:30, the car Doris hired to bring Elena to the house pulled into the driveway. Elena got out, after making arrangements with the driver to return at 10 to take her home, and went to the door. Before she could ring the bell, it opened. Doris and her husband, Patrick, were there ready to welcome her with open arms. They both hugged her.

As she stopped in the foyer to remove her coat, she handed Patrick a long cloth bag, saying, "I remembered two things about you when I was thinking about what to bring to give you two. One was that you were an amateur gardener, so flowers were out; and two, that neither of you was a teetotaler. So I got this. I hope you like it."

Patrick pulled the bottle out of the bag and looked at the label. "I've heard good things about this winery, but haven't tried any of their wines." He looked up at her and grinned. "I see you decided it would be better to give a New York wine instead of a California one."

Elena laughed as Doris took her coat and hung it up. "That was what the shopkeeper at the store told me I'd better get, 'to show support to the New York wineries'."

They turned to go into the living room and heard a young voice call out, "Mom? Which box is for the Tunnel People again?"A boy about eight years oldstopped at the entrance to the living room from the hallwhen hesaw Elena. "Uh oh."

Patrick hurried over to his son and they left, the boy protesting that he didn't mean to, but he hadn't known that she had arrived, and the dad soothing his son. Doris turned to Elena to try to explain away the remark, but was startled to see that Elena wasn't showing curiosity, but astonishment.

"Actually, my son was talking about some people –"

"Who live in tunnels under Manhattan."

It was Doris' turn to be surprised. "Like Father," she began carefully.

Elena turned to her, her surprise turning to relief. "And Vincent."


	16. Explanations

Doris and Elena just looked at each other. Then both spoke simultaneously.

"How–"

They stopped. Then Doris said, "You've been here less than a week. How did you find out about him?"

"The pull that brought me to New York came from him. I followed it and found the tunnels. What about you?"

"Although some of those who live in the tunnels spend their days above, working or going to school, or whatever, they can't provide for the entire community. There are people called helpers who assist those who live below by getting them necessities they can't obtain otherwise. Patrick is one of them. I found out shortly after we were married, and I became one, too. But why would you – oh my God! You and Vincent?"

"I believe – no, I'm convinced that we're related. Because of this pull, and my discovery, I've begun to remember certain things about my past."

"You have? That's wonderful!"

"Well, some of it is wonderful, but a lot is very painful, physically and emotionally."

Patrick walked back into the living room. "Honey, can you two postpone the rest of this conversation till later? Dinner's ready and the kids are hungry. So am I, for that matter."

Doris glanced up at her husband mischievously. "When **aren't** you hungry?" she asked. "But I think we'd better eat. We want to be finished before Mr. Perlman arrives."

They went into the dining room, where Elena was introduced to the children, Pat Jr., who was 8, and Marie, who was 5. "We call this guy Cruiser, because he's been doing just that since he was able to crawl," Patrick said, ruffling his son's hair.

"**Dad!" **the boy protested, then turned to Elena and said. "I'm sorry I didn't say hello before. And I just blurted out what I said before I checked to see if anyone else was around."

"That's okay, Pat," Elena replied with a smile. "I think you were meant to. See, I have been in the tunnels, too, but didn't know that your parents had. So that's turned out to be a good thing. Now I have someone I can talk to about all this. And she's my best friend, as well."

Patrick looked at his mother, then back at Elena. "Cool!"

The tension broken, everyone sat down and had an enjoyable meal. Both Doris and Patrick enjoyed cooking, and were good at it, but were careful to make sure it was always healthy as well as tasty. Elena grew more comfortable as the evening wore on and was able to retire to the living room afterwards to await the arrival of her publisher without any trepidation.

Doris and Patrick refused to let her help clear the table; they sent her away and Doris took Marie to her room to get her ready for bed. Pat helped his father in the dining room, then went to his own room to finish his homework before bedtime.

The female contingent was the first to join Elena, Marie looking appropriately adorable in her nightgown and fuzzy slippers. She climbed up on the sofa next to Elena and knelt on the seat, facing her. "You don't look like Vincent," she said. "Are you really related?"

"I believe we are," Elena replied. "And no, I don't look like him at all. But if I get scared or angry, or feel that I'm threatened, then I start to, a little bit."

"Do you know why?"

"Why what?"

"Why Vincent looks the way he does and why you sometimes do?"

"No, I don't. You see, I didn't remember anything about my life before I was fourteen, and I only remember a little tiny bit now."

"Why don't you remember?"

"I don't know. That's something I'm trying to find out."

"Why didn't you try to find out before?"

"Marie!""

Elena chuckled. "It's all right, Doris." She turned back to the girl. "I'd like to try to answer that. At first, I was trying to get better, after I was found. Then I was trying to fit in. And I had a lot of learning to do. After that, I was trying to find a place to live and work, so I could earn some money. During that time, I really wasn't wondering who I really was; I was too busy."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, I couldn't remember where I'd been before I was found, and when someone suggested that I should go to New York City, I became very afraid and didn't know why. When I thought about trying to find out, I became too afraid to try. About a year or so ago, I felt a pull to come here, and only recently did it become strong enough to overcome my fear. So now I'm here, to try to get answers to all my questions."

"Okay. I hope it doesn't hurt Vincent, though. I like him; he's cuddly." Marie giggled, then yawned.

"Looks like it's someone's bedtime," Elena said, smiling at the little girl. Patrick, who had come into the room earlier and was sitting in an armchair, listening to their conversation, now stood up.

"I'll take her, honey. It sounds like your boss just arrived." He moved to the couch and picked his daughter up, carrying her out of the room. She sleepily waved at Elena as they left.

"G'nite, 'lena."

"Goodnight, honey. Sweet dreams." Elena turned to her friend. "Cuddly?"

Doris laughed. "Whenever we take the kids with us and Vincent has been there, Marie likes to cuddle with him. He's wonderful with children."

As father and daughter disappeared down the hall, the doorbell rang. Doris signaled her to stay put and went to answer it. Elena could hear voices coming from the foyer and moments later, Doris walked back in, followed by an attractive older man. He was tall, slim and well dressed.

"Elena Kingston, I'd like you to meet Edward Perlman. Edward, this is Elena."

As Elena stood up, the man moved closer and held out his hand. She took it, and was startled to hear him say, "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time, now. Welcome to New York City. And what's this I've been hearing about you doing some personal research? When can we expect you to submit a story or a book about it?"


	17. Progressing

"_When can we expect you to submit a story or a book about it?"_

Elena was taken aback, and glanced over at Doris, who looked equally startled. "Probably never," she replied. "It's too personal and I haven't learned that much yet." She gently released her hand from his and sat down again. He took a seat near her, and Doris sat beside her.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I believe it could have the makings of a best seller. Your readers want to know about you and your life. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Elena paused. "I don't know yet what the outcome will be," she said slowly, "but a story based on my search might come out of it. However, it wouldn't be about me; it would use my experiences in getting the information, but nothing else. I prefer to keep my personal life private."

"As long as you think about it, I won't ask for more. Have you had a chance to write anything since you arrived in New York?"

"Not really. My personal research has taken up most of my time. Sorry."

"Edward, she has been here less than a week," Doris said. "Give her time to settle in and get used to the city. It can be pretty overwhelming, you know, unless you grew up here. Can I offer you some coffee?"

"Thank you, no. I have to get going. I just wanted to stop by and meet Miss Kingston. I hope to see you at the publishing house; I understand you'll be visiting there next week. Perhaps I'll be able to take you on a tour." He stood up and both women did the same.

"That sounds like a good idea. I look forward to it." She shook his hand again.

He left almost immediately, and an hour later the car that would take Elena home arrived. She hugged both Doris and Patrick, promising to visit often, and have them over soon. The driver took her back to her apartment building without hitting any traffic jams, and she thanked him as she got out. As she unlocked her door, fatigue set in. So she headed straight to bed and a good night's sleep.

* * *

The next morning was spent writing down her thoughts and straightening up the apartment. Then she began considering how she would persuade the officers at Richland Industries to tell her what she needed to know. There could be problems along the way, should they become convinced she was the daughter of the Stewarts. They might know what caused her to be the way she was, and Vincent to be what he was.But what would they do,if she had to explain the reason for her need to know?

One thing she knew – she wouldn't bring Vincent into it. She shuddered to think what would happen. They might hunt him down and imprison him, so they could run "tests". Or they might even kill him, so they could do the same. _Of course,_ she thought bitterly, _they would say it was all for science. There's no way I'll let that happen._

She wrestled with the problem, wishing she had time to talk to her brother about it, but knew that it wasn't feasible. She looked at the clock – for the tenth time – then suddenly felt reassured. She smiled as she realized that Vincent was sensing her feelings, and trying to help. _And it seems to be working,_ she thought. _I feel more confident about this._

She called for a cab, and twenty minutes later was on her way to Richland Industries.

* * *

Vincent was in the library with Father; both were reading. Father looked up to see his 'son' looking off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sensing Elena; she seems to be uncertain."

"Uncertain about what?"

"She told me that she'd be going today back to the company where George Stewart worked to try to get more answers. But I believe she is worried about what she might have to tell them in order to get those answers, and what they might try to do."

"Would she tell them about you?"

Vincent looked at him with a mixture of emotions. "I'm sure she wouldn't do that, Father. I thought you would have realized that by now."

"Vincent, you've known her only a few days. Whether or not she is your sister, you don't really know what kind of person she is. But right now, all we can do is wait."

Father went back to his reading, and after a few moments, Vincent did, too. Twenty minutes later, he raised his head again, sensing his sister.

"She is on her way."


	18. Epiphany

Shortly before 2 PM, a cab pulled up in front of Richland Industries' main entrance. After paying the driver, Elena got out and walked toward the doors. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and walked in. As she headed over to the guard desk, she heard a familiar voice. She turned to see Ron Hamilton walking toward her.

"Miss Kingston, it's good to see you again." He held out his hand, and she shook it. "I've already signed you in, so if you'll put on the visitor's badge, we'll head up to my office."

It seemed like she barely had time to catch her breath before she found herself once again sitting in front of his desk, and he was behind it. Next to her was an older man with a full head of white hair and pleasant brown eyes. Ron had introduced him as a long time executive with the company. His name was Isaiah Abbott, and he greeted her pleasantly, telling her she should call him by his first name.

"I've told Isaiah about our first meeting, which was also our only one, and when you called, I informed him," Ron said. "He felt he should be here to meet you and hear what you have to say."

"Of course. Well, as you know, I believe that George and Virginia Stewart are my parents. Since my visit to this place on Monday, I've become more certain about that. I've gotten more bits of memory, but not enough. I've spoken to some of the people who knew them, and they seem to believe that I am related to the Stewarts."

"What is it exactly that you want to know?"

"I believe the reasons they died and I can't remember anything before I was fourteen is due to Mark Haskell. I'd like to know how well he and my father knew each other. I had a flash of memory when my mother and I visited here – it didn't look anything like it does now – and I saw Haskell by a water cooler. I'd also like to know why he was fired."

The two men looked at each other. Finally Isaiah said, "They were co-workers, but not friends. They didn't fraternize here or – as far as I know – anywhere else. But concerning the reason he was fired, I want to know why you need the answer to that."

Elena hesitated, wanting to choose her words carefully. "Some of my memories are leading me to believe that he is responsible for my parents' death, as well as my whereabouts during the time I can't remember. And what he did during that interval may be related to the reason he was fired. Please, I don't want to disseminate the information; I just want to learn more about myself and the way I –" She stopped.

"The way you what?" Ron asked. She saw a sense of urgency in his eyes and looked over at Isaiah. He had the same look. She became uneasy, but her need to know was greater. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

"Under certain conditions, I become more violent than I should. It usually happens when I feel threatened. I keep getting the feeling that Haskell did something to me that made me that way. Please, what was he working on and why was he fired?"

The two men looked at each other. "I believe her, Isaiah. I think she has a right to know."

"What if she isn't who she says she is?"

"There's no way to prove that conclusively. We have no DNA samples from Stewart. And if Haskell experimented on her, any sample we took from her would be altered."

Isaiah sat back and looked from Ron to Elena. Then he stood up and paced the room meditatively. Several minutes passed, while Elena tried to think of something else to say to convince him to let her have the information. She had to be careful, and not just for her own sake.

Finally he sat back down, after turning his chair to face her. "I will tell you, but this information must not leave the room. Agreed?"

She knew she would have to tell Vincent and Father, but she felt certain they would not tell anyone else. And she certainly couldn't tell these men about them. "Agreed."

"Mark Haskell was working to develop a drug that would suppress the more violent emotions. At least, that was what he was supposed to be working on. In fact, he was doing the opposite. And he was putting his formula into that water cooler you probably saw him at. It was several months before he was caught, and by then the damage was done.

"Two of the other researchers got into an argument, and started aknock-down, drag-outfight.It took several people to get them apart.Once they calmed down, they both expressed astonishment at their behavior. Everyone knew them as very mild mannered up until then. And there were other small incidents that made people suspicious that something was going on.

"Haskell was spotted pouring something into a full container of water two days later, then putting the container on the cooler. When it and the small amounts of water left in a couple of other containers were analyzed, we realized what he'd been doing. We collected his notes (he hadn't been allowed to return to his lab) and found the formula. It was destroyed; no copy remains."

"However, he could have remembered the formula, and kidnapped me to experiment on. But why me?"

"George Stewart was the one who spotted him and blew the whistle. He used to drink a lot from that cooler, and even took a jug home once in a while. I imagine you and your mother may have had some."

"Oh, God!" It was Elena's turn to get up and pace, but hers was agitated. _A lousy chemical formula did this to Vincent and me? What kind of monster was Mark Haskell? And how do I tell Vincent about this?_

Just then, another memory flashed into her mind. It was one of her mother and father talking seriously; her mother was crying. She remembered her mother saying, "I don't care; I'm going to have this baby. We'll deal with things as they come. But I'm not going to abort him."

She remembered that her mother was getting fat – or that's the way it seemed to a four-year-old. Now that she thought about it, and had seen other pregnant women, she thought that her mother must have been at about the halfway point, maybe a little further along. _That means_ _over four months of that formula penetrating every part of her body while she was pregnant. And how long before that were we drinking that formula? No wonder Vincent was born looking like a little lion._

"Miss Kingston."

Elena stopped her pacing and turned to face Isaiah. She looked at him questioningly.

"I remember that your mother – er, Mrs. Stewart was pregnant. What happened to the baby?"

"Mark Haskell killed it."

"Are you sure?"

"I remember him taking the baby and me, then putting me someplace where I couldn't run away and leaving me for a while. When he returned, he told me the baby was dead."

"You believed him?"

"Mr. Abbott," she replied, mistrusting the eager look in his eyes, "I was four years old at the time. I didn't understand what was happening. I only knew that the baby was no longer with us."

"Do you know where Mark Haskell is now?"

"He's dead. If there's any justice, he's in Hell."

* * *

Vincent was pacing the tunnels. After he sensed that Elena had gone to her meeting, he couldn't concentrate on any of the books he had, and his son was napping. He'd gone to the Mirror Pool, but it didn't calm him as it usually did. There was an air of expectation about him, and animpatience to know.

He stopped suddenly, as he felt a variety of emotions coming from his sister. There were so many in such a short space of time. When they finally eased off, he realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out, and took a few deep ones. He resumed his pacing, but it was slower, and finally he sat down at the edge of the pool.

Shortly after, he knew she was heading back to Manhattan. He felt her trying to calm herself, then suddenly there was a strong wave of anger and hate. He grabbed his head, but almost as swiftly as it came, it faded. But it left him drained, and he lay back on the floor, his legs still dangling over the edge.

When he felt his strength return, he sensed that Elena had arrived at her apartment and gone into her room. He realized that she was also weakened, but had held out until she was home and safe. He knew it when she collapsed on her bed.

_After dark, I will go to her. I must know what happened. And what caused such rage._ Slowly Vincent got to his feet and headed back to his chamber.


	19. Confirmations

_A/N: Once again, I remind you that I do not own the canon characters from the TV series, but the original characters are from my own fertile imagination, and should not be used without my express, written permission. The same goes for my story, all or part of it. It is not to be reprinted, hotlinked or copied in any way without my written permission, and credit given. (Sorry, but some of my stories have been.)_

The taxi deposited Elena in front of her apartment building. As she handed the driver the fare, plus a hefty tip, he asked her, "Are you sure you're okay? You still look pretty wiped out."

"I'm not okay, but I'm a lot better, thanks. And I will be okay once I've had time alone in my apartment. I can get settled and calm there – and think."

"Okay, lady, if you're sure." He took the money and, seeing the size of the tip, grinned at her. "Hey, anytime you need to go someplace in this city, just call and ask for Julio. For a tip like this, I'll even get you there by the shortest route."

In spite of herself, Elena laughed. "I'll remember that, Julio. Thanks." She got out of the car and walked to the door, turned and waved at him, then disappeared inside.

Julio shook his head, thinking, _Strange lady. But she's sure a great tipper. _A moment later, he drove away.

When Elena got to her apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. But an hour later, she found herself pacing restlessly through the rooms. She was becoming more and more frustrated. _I need confirmation of what I remembered. And I can't find it here in New York._ She looked at the clock. _Oh, good. It's not as late as I thought._

She went to the phone, and dialed a number she knew well. When someone answered, she said, "Celia, it's Elena." There was a pause and she continued. "I'm fine, finding out all kinds of things here in the Big Apple. But I need a favor. Would you check the back records of the newspapers there about twenty three years ago, in the late spring, and see if there's any reports of a fire destroying a building in a remote area, north of Kingston?"

Apparently there was an assent, for she said, "Yes, I'll hold." She kept saying under her breath, "Please let there be reports, please let there be reports," until several minutes later, the other woman came back on the line. "There are? That's fantastic. Can you read them to me?"

She cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder and began writing quickly on a notepad. "Yes, I've got it. What about the next one?" She wrote some more, then said, "Celia, I can't thank you enough. Would you make copies of those reports, and note the names of the newspapers and the dates of the articles, then mail them to me?"

Another pause, and she replied, "Great. I'll send you a check to cover the cost. You've done me a big favor and I owe you a big one for this. I'll be in touch."

When she hung up, she went to her word processor, and proceeded to type up, first what she'd learned at Richland Industries, then what she'd written. Once she finished, she read it over, slowly. Finally she printed it out. Then she read it again.

_This confirms what I remembered in the taxi. But will Father and Vincent believe what I have to tell them, even with this to back me up? I'm finding it hard to believe, myself, and I was there! And this raises even more questions. I wonder if I'll remember more and be able to answer them._

She was suddenly hungry, and glanced at the clock. She decided to fix herself something to eat, and go down into the tunnels afterward. She headed into the kitchen.

* * *

Vincent walked into the library where Father was usually to be found. Today was no different, and the older man was sitting in his favorite chair, reading, as usual. He looked up and frowned in concern. "Vincent, you look tired. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Father. It seems that sometimes Elena's emotions can be very powerful. Today was one of those days."

"What kinds of emotions?"

"Shock, rage, frustration, and fear, not necessarily in that order. I suspect she learned something at that place she went back to. And I think another memory surfaced, but not a good one, this time."

"Can you tell what she is feeling now?"

There was a pause. "Still some frustration, and uncertainty, but. . ." he gave a quiet laugh, ". . . mostly hunger right now."

Father chuckled. "I suppose she'll come down for a visit later."

Vincent smiled. "If she doesn't, I'll go see her. I want to know what she learned."

"All right, but whatever you two do, please be careful."

"I will." Vincent turned and went to his quarters to rest and wait.


	20. Memories

_A/N Please forgive me for how long it's been since I updated this story. Other commitments, computer problems and writer's block are the main reasons I took so long. I hope this chapter is worth waiting for. As always, my disclaimer is that Vincent, Father, Jacob and Mary are not my characters. I'm just borrowing them and will return them intact. All others are strictly part of my sometimes overactive imagination and are not to be used - as is my story - in any way without my express written permission._

"Vincent, I've found out a lot, and remembered more, but I don't know if you – and especially Father – will believe it. **I'm** having a hard time believing it."

Elena had entered the tunnels through the sub-basement of her apartment building, to find Vincent waiting for her. They had walked for some time in silence, Vincent sensing her need to try to gather her thoughts. But before long, she just had to speak. He considered her words before he answered her.

"You know that I believe you; our bond lets me know that you're telling me the truth. Father will be more difficult to convince, but not as hard as you think. Have faith. You'll win his trust."

They arrived at the library, where Father was waiting for them. "Please excuse me for not getting up. My leg has been more troublesome than usual today."

She went over to him and knelt down, putting a hand on his arm. "No apology is necessary. I'm flattered that you feel you should, but I don't expect it." She smiled up at him. "Thank you for thinking it, though."

His face softened slightly. "You're very welcome. Now, what have you come to tell us?" He indicated another chair nearby. "Please sit down."

Elena stood and moved over, then sat and turned toward him. Vincent took a third chair, also near Father. She began to talk, first telling them about her second visit to Richland Industries, and what she learned. A couple of times she had to stop and compose herself when she began to grow agitated. When she finished that part of her story, Father stared at her in amazement.

"So you're saying that this Mark Haskell, instead of developing a formula to help suppress violent tendencies, did exactly the opposite? And that you and your parents ingested this formula?"

She nodded. "It seems that my father had the habit of filling a gallon jug from the cooler and bringing it home for all of us to drink from. Apparently he didn't have any faith in the city's water." She smiled slightly.

"Elena"

She turned to Vincent, a questioning look in her eyes. He asked, "What happened afterward, when you were returning to your apartment? I felt a sudden wave of such anger and hate that it drained me."

She reached out to him. "Oh, Vincent. I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward and took her hand in his. "It's all right. No harm was done, but I'd like to know what caused it."

"Another memory." She glanced at Father then Vincent, and then looked down. "I remembered how I finally escaped." She swallowed hard.

"Go on, Elena," Father said, encouragingly. "You can tell us."

"I-I was kept in a single room," she began, hesitantly. It wasn't a large one, and there was no furniture. I was naked, and there was only one blanket in the room with me. It was in a building made to look like a cabin of some sort. At least that's what it looked like when I got outside.

"I remember hearing him talking on the phone. I heard him say something about how I was the right age and had hit puberty. He said he agreed with whomever he was talking to that it was the next step in the research, and he'd be delighted to do it.

"When he stopped talking, there was silence for several minutes, then the door was unlocked and he walked in, naked. He approached me with this look on his face and told me to lie down on the blanket. He got on top of me and began to stroke me. . ."

Suddenly agitated, she stood up and began pacing. Vincent and Father looked at each other in concern. She finally continued after several minutes.

"I knew what he was trying to do, because Mother had told me the facts of life while she was pregnant. I wasn't sure I wanted him to do it to me, but he had – 'trained', for lack of a better word – me to obey him in everything. So I didn't try to stop him until. . ." She stopped pacing and shivered.

Vincent got up and went over to her, putting an arm around her and holding her close. She took a few deep breaths and finally went on. "He started saying horrible things, disgusting things. Things about how I would be the mother of a race of conquerors, and he the father. How no one would stop him and even those who hired him to do what he was doing would have to someday bow down to him. Then he said how stupid my father was to think he could prevent him from completing his work, and how ironic it was that his daughter was going to continue the race he tried to keep from being created.

"I began to remember things I'd forgotten – things that had happened so long ago. And I grew angry. I remembered that he'd killed my parents and brother – as I thought then – and took me away from the happy life I had and made me a prisoner. I began to hate him and what he had done, and was doing to me.

"I struck back with everything I had in me, and it was more than enough. I threw him against a wall, and then went over andstrangled him.Afterward, I went to the far corner of the room and stayed there trembling for several hours. When I calmed down, I began to realize that I had to get away, and to destroy the building we were in.

"Even though I hadn't had any education since I was four, I had learned how to reason to a certain extent. I even knew how to read, because Mother had felt I was able to learn, even if I was so young. I was able to figure out that I needed to get the key he'd brought in, and unlock the door. I did, and found myself in a lab, with a computer and a complete setup. I began to destroy everything I could reach, and kept it up until I was nearly exhausted.

"After I rested, I began to think that since he caused my parents to burn, it was only right that he burned, too. I remembered that he'd been talking to someone about this, and realized they must have hired him to create the formula. But I was going to make sure they would never get it. I found a stove and turned it on. I put papers and anything I could find to burn on it, and began grabbing some of the burning things and throwing them in other areas of the building, including the room he was in.

"When I saw that the fire was going real well, I realized that I'd better get out of there, and I did. I moved well away from the building and watched it burn. No other buildings were nearby so no one came to try and save it. Night was falling by then, and I stayed until the flames had consumed just about everything. Then I walked away. I just kept going, and it wasn't until the next afternoon that I was found."

She looked up at Vincent. "The emotions you felt from me were what I was feeling when I remembered what he tried to do to me. I don't regret what I did, not for a second. He was evil and had to be stopped."

He held her close and she hugged him. Then she turned to Father.

"Do you have any evidence to corroborate what you've told us?"

"Sort of," she replied. "I called a friend who works in the library in Kingston and asked her to search the newspaper accounts from that time to see if there were any stories about the fire. She found two and read them to me. They told about some hikers who had come across the burnt out building and spotted the charred remains of a human. It seems that Mark Haskell was slightly known to some people. He had bought the property and building on it outright a few years before he kidnapped me. He'd been seen from time to time in the nearby town, buying supplies – food, chemicals, tools – and had been there about a week or so before the fire. I copied down what she read to me, and typed them up, if you'd like to see it. And she's going to make copies of the reports and send them to me, along with the dates of the articles and the names of the papers that published them."

She moved away from Vincent, walking over to the chair she'd been sitting in and picked up a manila envelope. She took it over to Father and handed it to him. Vincent moved behind him as he opened it, and the two of them read what she had typed.

As they did so, Elena returned to her chair and sat down wearily. It had been a long, emotion-filled day, and she was looking forward to a good night's sleep. But she wanted to hear what Father had to say. She could tell that Vincent believed her, but then there was this bond they shared that convinced him that she was his sister, as nothing else could.

Finally Father looked up at her. "I'm inclined to believe you, young lady. But I'd like to see those copies, when you get them."

"Of course."

"Now that you're convinced you know the truth, if not all of it yet, what do you want to do about it?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Do? Nothing. I mean, I don't see that there's anything I can do, even if I wanted to. All I wanted was some knowledge about who I am and what happened. Now that I have that, it doesn't matter to me if I regain all my memories or not. The fact that I have some family whom I can visit from time to time is more than I could have hoped for."

"You aren't planning to write about all this?"

She snorted a laugh. "Not in the least. I'm not known for writing fantasies, and who'd believe this was real? I'm still having a hard time believing it myself. As I told my publisher, who came to meet me when I had dinner at my agent's home, I may write a story based on my research experiences, but nothing about why I was doing it or what I found."

"Your agent? You haven't told him about this place, have you?"

"Actually, he's a she. And she already knows. She and her husband are helpers."

Vincent stared at her. "Who are they?"

"Doris and Patrick Garvey." She grinned at her brother. "And their daughter thinks that you are very cuddly, Vincent."


	21. Acceptance

_A/N Please forgive me for not updating for so long. My muse has been stubbornly quiet, and other genres have been trying to take over. I loved the show so much, I didn't want to show disrespect to it by writing what I considered less than my best. I hope that you won't hold it against me._

"_And their daughter thinks that you are very cuddly, Vincent."_

An amused expression appeared in Vincent's eyes as he shook his head. "I could get to dislike you, Elena. Especially if you keep teasing me like this." They both looked at Father, who couldn't keep his laughter contained.

She chuckled. "Ah, but I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that I do it only when you and I are alone, or with Father. I'd never do it around anyone else."

"She's got you there, Vincent," Father said as he brought himself under control. "And teasing is a part of sibling life. I think you'd better get used to it. At least you are both more than mature enough to keep it light and easy."

Vincent and Elena looked at each other and smiled. It seemed that Father had fully accepted their blood relationship, and that relieved her. _Maybe now he won't be so suspicious of me and my motives,_ she thought. _And I can move on, do more._

"So what will you do now, Elena? What's your next step?"

She looked up at Father's question. "I don't really know. I want to get to know my brother and his family, of course. And I'm feeling the urge to write something." At his look of concern, she added, "Oh, not about any of what's happened, but perhaps based on some of it. I tell you what; when I do have something written up, I'll let you have a look at it first. I can always use constructive criticism."

"I'd be delighted, Elena. And it looks like Vincent would, too."

She turned at Father's words and looked at her brother. She saw the anticipation in his eyes and smiled. "Then it's a deal. I'm not sure how soon I'll have anything ready, but when I do, I'll let you know. Or more likely," her expression became mischievous, "Vincent will know immediately and tell you."

Father chuckled as Vincent gaveher a mock threatening look. "Very likely. But we'll wait until you bring it to us." He noticed her suppressing a yawn and added, "You've had a long, emotionally tiring day. Vincent, why don't you take her home? We'll see you again when the news clippings arrive, if not before."

"Thank you, Father. I might get them on Saturday, but more likely it'll be Monday or Tuesday, depending on how soon Celia sends them out." She paused. "I can't believe it's only Thursday. So much has happened since I arrived; was it really only five days ago? It seems much longer."

"Yes, you've been through a great deal. Well, get some sleep and tomorrow, go do some more sightseeing; I believe you said you had done some. Get to know the city better."

"I may just do that," Elena replied, grinning. "Or perhaps I'll take in a show. It's nice that I have choices. Good night, Father."

"Good night."

Vincent and Elena left the library and silently walked through the tunnels, heading to the entrance to her apartment building. "Father's right, you know," he finally said to her. "You need to get to know the city above, to get more settled. There really isn't any more investigating you can do right now."

She sighed. "I suppose so. But it's still frustrating that there's so much I still can't remember. And I don't know if I ever will."

"If you were meant to, the memories will come in time."

"You're right, of course. I hope, though, that they'll be the ones from before Haskell showed up. I'd like to share them with you, so you could know what our parents were like."

They arrived at the entrance to her building. She turned to Vincent and reached out, hugging him. He reciprocated, saying, "Get a good night's sleep, and in the morning start finding out what your life will be above. I'll see you again soon."

"You too." She held him tightly for a moment longer, then released him and headed for the ladder to the sub-basement. Just before she disappeared, she turned and smiled at him. It warmed him, and made his journey back to his quarters less lonely.


End file.
